A hastily hand addressed envelope
Hides jauntily among the optics
Lining the back of the bar
As an unfamiliar voice sings words
I've never heard before,
Sending my mind forward
To the day when I might finally
See my name wrought of ink
By your fair hand.

I hope it will not be another
Day that never arrives, meaning
There are words long anticipated
That I will never read.

Perhaps there will be no such
Words, as you realise that
You would rather they be read
By someone else, just as I
Would love for you to read mine.

Somehow I still see your face
Projected onto the north light
Ceiling above me, lit by
Colour after colour, even though
You seemed to stop haunting me
Long ago. Perhaps you are
Simply impossible to dismiss
From memory after all...
Or maybe things will
At last stop repeating endlessly.

All it probably is is
A haunting...and you will be
To me the ghost of memories
Of things that never occurred,
And dreams half remembered
In which I knew the sound of
Your voice like a familiar song...
Something constantly keeping
Me from moving into too much
Of my life to come.

Or maybe I shall just forget you
As I will forget this song,
A moment that will someday
Become a hardly noticeable
Speck of dust between the pages
Of my life story.

01/17/2004

Posted on 01/18/2004
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince